A Night Like Any Other
by D. F. Ray
Summary: A visit to Catherine Chandler's balcony on a normal night with Vincent the love of her life.


**A Night Like Any Other**

**By D. F. Ray**

She wonders the streets alone, her mind miles below the city streets, smiling to herself, and though she doesn't know, the small smile makes her already pretty countenance, beautiful. She walks unaware that in the shadows she is being watched. The darkness is his shield, his cloak of invisibility. He is as quiet as her shadow, and as unnoticed. This isn't a bad area for her to wander, but in this day and time, no one is ever safe, but she doesn't worry. Catherine knows she can handle any she evil she encounters and defeat it, with the help of her secret love, Vincent, of course a knowledge of the martial arts and self defense courses don't hurt either. But tonight is not a night for thoughts of battling dark forces, but a night for relishing the dark, like the comforting arms of a lover, rather than fearing it.

He watches her safely to her apartment, smiling as he does so. "She is my love," he thinks. "I have found what men have searched for, conquered civilizations for, climbed mountains, and started wars for… love. In it's pure and natural state it is the most fleeting of all emotions and yet with Catherine at my side, in my heart and as my love I can endure my solitary existence." These thoughts pass through Vincent's mind in the flash of seconds, as he watches his true love enter the apartment building, with the aid of the doorman, who bows as he opens the door for her. She lives in the world above, where is appearance makes him an unwelcome visitor rather than a resident. He cautiously makes his way down the darkened street knowing he will see her shortly, and his heart beats so quickly now he fears it will burst from his chest in his anticipation.

Catherine enters her apartment, making quick work of those mundane tasks she performs daily after a long day at the district attorney's office. She changes clothes, while listening to her messages, stopping only occasionally to jot a note to herself in her day planner about who to call back and why. Finally she dims the lights, all thoughts of the day and the problems at the office forgotten. Her only thought is of him, only him, my love, Vincent. She knows he will come, instinctively. Just as she has often found him waiting for her at the entrance to below when she comes to him unannounced. His only explanation "I felt your presence, I knew you were coming." Amazing, this seemingly psychic bond that had developed between them. If one is in need or in peril the other knows with unerring certainty that they are needed. The bond also works to cement their love. Neither doubts the passion of the other. "If only everyone could experience this, the world would be different, for him especially," she thinks. "But better to not dwell on the negative tonight, she smiles wistfully and continues her end of the evening routine.

Her heart feels his presence before she sees him. There, standing on the balcony with the breeze blowing the sheer billowy curtains around him. She cannot see his face, but she doesn't need to see it. It is a face etched in her heart and soul for all time, a beautiful face. She steps out onto the balcony and immediately into his arms. Strong arms, they block out the world and all its troubles. He is taller than she, and he completely enfolds her petite frame with his body. The embrace is long and filled with love and tenderness. When it is over, she looks into his big, brown, sensitive eyes and smiles. He returns her smile with one of his own, even allowing his teeth, with his extra sharp canines showing. There is no need of self-consciousness here, he knows she will love him no matter his appearance. She is not afraid of him.

Thought they don't realize it, they would appear to the casual viewer as a picture from a child's storybook. She wearing a flowing pale green, silk pajamas and robe, the excess material flowing in the light breeze blowing over the balcony. And he as usual wearing what at first appear to be ragged clothing, but on closer inspection, become the clothes of an eighteenth century poet or nobleman. He wears a dark, smooth burgundy shirt made of the large scraps of velvet, procured by the women who live below, to make the clothing for him. It flows down his chest in waves, following the ripples of his muscular chest and torso. The sleeves are long and flowing ending in a pair of matching gloves tied at the wrist with thin almost delicate strips of the dark stained leather they are made of, insuring that his hairy paw-like hands are covered completely. Over this he wears a quilted tunic of the lightest blue-gray coming down to his waist, stopping just atop the well fitting handmade black trousers he always wears. His boots, made of smooth tan suede are knee length, and fold over to tie on the side with small strips of leather that swing with his every step. "I wonder if he knows how he looks," she thinks as she takes in his over all appearance. His hair is golden blonde and shoulder length, with a windblown appearance that belies his grooming habits. His face, now smiling down at hers, is covered in the finest of golden hair, like corn silk. How wonderful to touch him, and feel the softness of that hair against her own skin. "If only people weren't so terrified of all that is different they would see the beauty in you, Vincent. But all that is gone for now, when we are together the world fades away," she said as she looked up into his regal yet animal-like face. She had always, thought, but never said that he looked like a lion. Fitting as it may be, at times when he protected her, his appearance disguised his true nature, "For me it fades away at the sight of your beauty, Catherine."

"So, what shall we read tonight?" she asks, smiling as she sits down on the floor of the balcony, on a brocade cushion she leaves there for this purpose. The wall blocking the view of any who would be looking out of their windows at this hour of the night. As Vincent prepares to sit, he reaches into the folds of his tunic and produces a ruby red rose, so fresh and dew covered it glistens in the moonlight as if covered with small jewels. Catherine gasped at the sight of it. "Oh, Vincent, it's beautiful. Where did you get it?" "They grow below, as lovingly tended as those in the green houses above, Mary grows a small garden in an area below that is met with sunlight during the day." Catherine, still breathless from the sight of such beauty, sighs, smiling, "tell Mary I would like to see her garden sometime." I think it would give her much pleasure to show it off to someone who seems as taken with her flowers as she. They are her pride and joy." Mary, an older woman with a past she never talks of or hints at has made herself an important part of life below. Her life below consists of teaching the children and caring for Vincent. She brings his meals, makes his clothing, and is the general voice of reason in times of upheaval. Catherine herself has gone to Mary herself in quest for understanding of her place in both the world above and below. Never has she been denied the woman's counsel.

He sat, slowly, but gracefully by her side. "Tonight I thought perhaps some poetry. Father and I have been reading Dickens of late, but I somehow that doesn't fit the mood tonight. The stars above, the very night itself calls out to me with its beauty. And you… here… now, I can do no less than read the words of those who know true love and passion. Then he began to read in the soft soothing voice reserved for the gentle at heart and the very in love, and he was both, he read:

_If yet I have not all thy love,  
Dear, I shall never have it all;  
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,  
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;  
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee-  
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters--I have spent.  
Yet no more can be due to me,  
Than at the bargain made was meant;  
If then thy gift of love were partial,  
That some to me, some should to others fall,  
Dear, I shall never have thee all._

_Or if then thou gavest me all,  
All was but all, which thou hadst then;  
But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall  
New love created be, by other men,  
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,  
In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,  
This new love may beget new fears,  
For this love was not vow'd by thee.  
And yet it was, thy gift being general;  
The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall  
Grow there, dear, I should have it all._

_Yet I would not have all yet,  
He that hath all can have no more;  
And since my love doth every day admit  
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;  
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,  
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;  
Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,  
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;  
But we will have a way more liberal,  
Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall  
Be one, and one another's all. __1_

After several hours of just simply being together, Vincent realizes that she has fallen asleep holding his arm, with her head lightly on his shoulder. He smiles, realizing that she is tired from all the days activities that rule the above world. Gently ever so gently, he places the book of poetry he has been reading aloud to her aside. Then with an ease borne of love and practice, he stands without allowing her to feel any movement, and lifts her sleeping form. Walking slowly, for fear of waking his "sleeping beauty", Vincent takes Catherine to her bedroom, where he lies her lightly on the bed and covers her with a comforter he finds lying at the foot of the bed. He can't resist, "she looks so peaceful, lying there with that cherubic smile on her face. I feel drawn to her so strongly," and he kneels low to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. To do more would be ungentlemanly. He quietly leaves the way he came, out the balcony door, and disappears, quiet as the shadows he knows will protect him on the journey to below.

January 2001

Nashville, TN.

D.F. Ray

1 _Lovers' Infiniteness by John Donne (1572-1631)_


End file.
